Causality
by Kodiak Bear Country
Summary: Released zine fic.  Short one shot humor piece, just some fluff for a laugh or two.  A cause and effect story.


**AN: **Released Zine story for Jumper One. I wasn't really happy with this bit of fluff but I had promised a story and underestimated the time needed for moving in the midst of all of this. I much prefer the story I tribbed for Jumper Two, but in the meantime, it's hopefully at least good for a laugh!**  
**

**Causality**

By Kodiak Bear Country

And the day started so well, thought Sheppard. Here he sat, hunched under a scratchy military-issue blanket, side by side with McKay, while his entire body--and when he said entire, he meant entire--itched like he'd been attacked by a horde of man-eating mosquitoes.

And why? Why, you might ask? Because Rodney couldn't control his roving eyes, and the chieftain had a thing about his daughter's butt being ogled. Not so much the ogling, as who did the ogling. If John had ogled, they would've been invited to a larger ten-course feast, as opposed to the paltry five-course one they were at when it all started. But because Rodney had done the ogling, they'd been sentenced to compete in some native ritualistic barbaric wrestling games.

And the rest was history – well, not so much history as a chain of events that would either make you weep or laugh, depending on how sadistic a person you may be. Personally, John had skipped weeping and laughing, and headed straight for seething.

"At least Teyla and Ronon are having a good time," Rodney said with chattering teeth.

John swung his head to look at him, amazed at the balls of the man. "Really?"

He supposed maybe his tone had just a tad bit of a sarcastic edge, because Rodney stiffened next to him, the shivering slowing, and he glowered before retorting, "I don't see why you're blaming me for this. You elbowed me, and I specifically remember you saying 'now that's hot'."

"I was talking about the barbeque meat." John waved a hand to mimic the food speared on the long stick he'd been given at the meal, not sure what to call it. "It was spicy!"

Jerking more blanket over towards him, Rodney snorted. "Please, your face was practically glued in that direction--what else was I to think you were talking about?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe if you'd pull your mind out of the gutter!"

John yanked the blanket back, sending Rodney sprawling into him. He quickly remedied the lack of personal space by shoving the scientist away, sans blanket. God, he itched, and now he was cold, and, damn it, would Teyla and Ronon hurry up and finish wining and dining so they could just get back and let Beckett give him something for this…whatever it was. Rash, reaction, something!

Rodney fixed him with a filthy glare before stumbling to his feet and pulling another blanket out of the overhead compartment, and wrapping himself in it, dropped back beside John.

"I can't help it if it's been a while, okay?" he finally admitted pitifully.

This was truly something out of a comedy. And if it weren't for the itching, and the cold, and the – what was he thinking, this wasn't funny--

Before he could finish the thought, a loud honking penetrated the hull of the jumper, causing both men to stop scratching and strain to hear more.

"What was that?" Rodney asked worriedly.

"Sssshhh."

Sheppard waited for the sound, and there…there it was. Loud and close. And suspiciously like –

"Son of a bitch," he groaned. "They followed us!"

John wouldn't have guessed it was possible for Rodney to pale more, but the scientist did. And the really funny part of it was, the pale skin contrasted dramatically with the red hives.

"I thought you said they'd get bored and go back to bathing, and drinking…and other things." McKay's hand waved underneath his blanket.

"I thought they would, Rodney," John drawled. He really had. And to think, things had started out so promisingly that morning.

Earlier 

"So, all we have to do is wine and dine with the chief and his people, and we get the ZPM?"

John wanted to make sure he was clear on that, because too often lately things that had seemed simple turned out to be…not so much.

Elizabeth tilted her head towards Teyla, acknowledging the Athosian's hand in the agreement. "So Teyla tells me."

"Colonel Sheppard, I've met several times before with Chief Argoulias. He is a man of his word."

He shrugged his shoulders, disbelieving. "Doesn't this strike anyone else as too easy?"

Rodney snorted into the file he held, while Ronon kept that same impassive look plastered on his face. Elizabeth stared at McKay for a beat before shifting back to John. "You're too used to complications, John. Enjoy the feast, keep an eye out, and, hopefully, when it's over, we'll have another fully charged ZPM to use."

Nobody else said anything. Great. One thing he'd learned from his time in the Pegasus Galaxy was that it was never this easy, but if everyone else wanted to go around with bags over their heads, fine, he'd go along. But he'd keep his P90 ready for when the other boot fell.

The meeting broke up, and Sheppard pulled Ronon to the side as they left the room.

"Make sure you bring that super stunner, okay?" he said. At Ronon's raised eyebrow, he added, "Just being cautious."

"Cautious sometimes causes more trouble." Ronon nodded, though, and headed off to get his gear ready.

Maybe it did cause trouble, but it was better to be armed when trouble found you, John figured. And with that in mind, he had a party to get dressed for.

OoO

They landed the jumper in a clearing about five miles from the village. Even McKay didn't seem to mind the walk, and John wondered at that, but then again, they were all suffering from a serious case of cabin fever.

Lorne's team had brought back a virulent cold virus, and while Sheppard's team had escaped catching it, Carson didn't want to risk them possibly spreading the germs to other worlds. He'd ordered the gate shut down until there were no new cases for over forty-eight hours.

It'd taken four and a half weeks to meet those criteria, even with strict quarantine protocols.

The only other time they'd been forced to stay in the city for that length of time was when the Athosians had been under suspicion for betraying their movements to the wraith.

John was dressed in his t-shirt and vest, weapon still hooked to the front, though little else was going from the jumper to the party. The sun was shining, the temperature was a nice, moderate 74 degrees, and all things considered, it was looking up to be a fun evening.

By the time they'd arrived at the village, John had learned that 74 degrees can feel awfully hot when you have to spend a couple hours walking in it. Walking back after having a large feast was going to be less than fun, with full stomachs, but at least the sun would be down at that point.

When they were spotted turning the last bend in the path, the village kids took off to tell the elders they'd arrived. So it was that the chieftain and his advisors strode out to greet them, complete with the clichéd open arms. John didn't like to be hugged, but he found himself being pulled into a hard embrace that knocked the breath out of him, before Chief Argoulias released him and moved on to McKay.

He almost made the mistake of laughing when Rodney's face reddened from the strong hug, but cut it off before it even started, because he had a feeling that wouldn't be a good thing to do with these people.

Then again, the face Ronon made during his hug almost did John in.

"Come, come – the women await!" The chief beckoned for them to follow down the dusty path to the village center.

John could already see the flames licking higher than the grass rooftops, and smell the roasting meat. He shifted the P90 and thought maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all.

The cloying scent of flowers and food and unwashed bodies hit them immediately upon entering the village. Villagers danced around the bonfire while eating shish ke-bobs made from some kind of native animal.

Teyla had arranged for Beckett to make sure the food was safe for them, and it was, so John's mouth was watering at the good smells coming from the barbequing meat. He tried not to let his mind linger for long on the sanitary side of the methods they used to prepare the food. The high heat had to kill off any bacteria, right?

"See, Colonel, nothing to worry about." Smugly, Rodney nudged him in the side, and waved happily as a serving woman danced by with more meat on a stick.

As she passed the chief, he pulled four off the platter, and handed one to John and each member of his team.

Sheppard bowed slightly, just like Teyla had shown him, and grinned. "What is it?" he asked, having to shout to be heard over the growing drums and the dancing crowd.

Beaming, the chief just nodded.

John smiled back, thinking maybe the chief had had a few too many drinks already. He lifted the stick in a cheers fashion, and took a bite. He probably didn't want to know what it was, anyway. And, whoa! The spicy explosion on his tongue made his eyes water and his mouth burn. Why hadn't he waited until he had a drink in hand before taking a bite?

He opened his mouth and waved air in even as he finished chewing and swallowing, partially choking as he did so. He nudged Rodney in the ribs, wanting to warn him about the spiciness of the dish. "Now that's hot," he stuttered, still trying to cool his mouth down.

Rodney whistled low. "You aren't kidding." Apparently, his warning came too late, and Rodney had already taken a bite.

John noticed then the chief wasn't smiling anymore. In fact, he was glaring at both him and Rodney. Sheppard suddenly had a bad feeling, and he searched for Ronon and Teyla, as they'd gotten swept off into some dance, and now he was feeling very vulnerable.

"Sawitsu!" the chieftain swore, and bodies moved into action.

Food was dropped, drums silenced, and all eyes swiveled toward John and Rodney.

Sheepishly, he raised the half-eaten stick of meat and grinned as widely as possible. "It's good, really. Yummy."

There was a lot of native yelling, and big burly men in grass skirts and not much else muscled up next to him and Rodney. Shit.

Teyla suddenly appeared, Ronon in tow, and she began gesticulating and speaking rapidly with the chief. That was good. Teyla could handle anything with natives. John tried to smile reassuringly to Rodney, but he was too busy checking out the size of the guys guarding them. These people were massive, easily seven feet tall, and Sheppard imagined even Ronon would have a fight on his hands with these warriors.

He hadn't seen an actual washboard chest since his days of gym-hopping. What did they do, lift the women for weight training?

Testing the water, so to speak, John moved toward Teyla and the chief. Big Dumb Guy Number One stepped in front of him, arms folded, with eyes that stared right over John's head. Guess that answered that.

He was saved from embarrassing himself further as Teyla stalked over to their current position and, boy, did she not look happy.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, it appears that Rodney has…insulted the chieftain's daughter's honor."

And that urge to laugh, the one that he kept having to force down, it rose up again, because Rodney's face was one for the record books. He went from pissed, to shocked, to insulted in less time than it took a computer to calculate pi to the tenth digit.

"I did what!" McKay finally managed to exclaim, when he stopped working his mouth like a fish out of water.

The look Teyla shot him was less than understanding. "It appears you…stared at her…" She kind of drifted off before reconciling herself to what it was she had to say, and continued, "her behind, Rodney."

His protest was immediate and swift. "I didn't stare at her butt!"

John fixed a "tell the truth" look on him, and Rodney shrugged helplessly. "Well, maybe a little, but it was right there. It's not like I could miss it!"

Oh, God, was he calling the chief's daughter fat, now? "Shut up, Rodney," hissed John, "before you get us killed!"

Ronon fingered the stun weapon and gave a subtle jerk toward Teyla. "Is this a problem?"

Seems Rodney wasn't the only one earning a dirty look tonight. Teyla shook her head vehemently. "No," she enunciated. "It's not a problem. Colonel, it is a matter of honor. If you, our leader, had…stared at her behind…it would've been cause for an even greater celebration, but as it was Doctor McKay, it's -"

"- an insult," finished John.

Now she just seemed uncomfortable. "Yes."

He sighed. And he'd almost thought this was going to be easy. "What do we have to do?" Money, guns, food –

"Fight."

Fight? "Say what? Because there is no way I'm going to go down in one of those 'fight to the death' clichés." John had had enough clichés already for the day--hell, for the year.

She was shaking her head quickly to reassure him. "Nothing like that, Colonel. It's a contest for entertainment only. Chief Argoulias says you and Rodney can compete in one of the events coming up in a few moments. If you win, the offense is commuted and you may stay for the remainder of the feast. If you lose, then you and Doctor McKay must return to our ship while Ronon and I represent the city of Atlantis tonight."

Didn't sound so bad. John glanced over and saw McKay coming to the same conclusion. Course, if Dumb Muscle Guy Number One here was anything like what they'd have to face, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion they'd be sitting out the rest of the feast in the jumper. But there were worse ways he could imagine spending a few hours.

"Tell him we agree," said Sheppard.

And that was where it all went wrong.

John and Rodney lost. Miserably. The opponents they had to wrestle were easily equal to four of them, maybe six.

The villagers had their own version of booing and hissing, and the two opponents wrestled them to a pin in about two seconds.

The chief even held aloft the victorious Dumb Muscle Guy's hands and shouted and cheered. But, really, it should have been embarrassing, because it was kind of like beating a five year old at basketball; they could barely hold the ball right, let alone throw high enough to reach the hoop. It had been that easy.

John rolled onto his stomach, face close to the ground, and spat out a mouthful of dirt. "You know, I didn't think it was possible to hurt in so many different places, and we weren't even fighting long enough for them to touch us…"

McKay just moaned and stayed in the same position he'd been in when Dumb Muscle Guy Number Two had climbed off of him.

"McKay? You okay?"

"I'm never going to be okay again."

Ronon's feet stopped between their two bodies. Rodney was flat on his back, John still on his stomach, and neither one were bothering to move further.

"Do you need help?" the runner asked with amusement.

"No," John said, trying to keep his mouth to the side so he didn't get more dirt stuck in his teeth. "I'm good."

"Yes, I could use your help," snapped McKay. "And so could Colonel Rip Van Sheppard, even though he's too stubborn to admit it."

All things considered, the humiliation wasn't enough, because Teyla was now approaching with two older village women and in their hands were baskets full of towels. And why did Teyla look even more sheepish than before? It's amazing what you could see with your head twisted to the side.

"Ronon," John called.

"Yeah."

"Help me up."

"Okay."

A few very painful moments later, both he and McKay were upright. Teyla shifted uncomfortably on her heels, and finally John snapped, "Out with it. There's something else, right – some other ritual to redeem their honor?"

"Not exactly," she said.

John closed his eyes and counted to ten. Maybe he should've aimed for twenty. "Teyla, I'm tired, and I hurt in places that I haven't hurt in – well, a long time. What is it?"

She practically stiffened with reluctance, but admitted the losers had to take a ritual mud bath before departing the village.

Sheppard really tried to put a positive spin on things, but this was getting ridiculous. "A mud bath?" he repeated.

Teyla brightened with false cheer. "The women of the village say the mud has rejuvenating properties."

Rodney was starting to back up. "Nonono, I'm not going to bathe in mud. Do you know what happens when mud gets up there?"

Up where? John narrowed his eyes at Rodney and promised himself to get that story later, but for now, "Teyla, is this really necessary? What would happen if we just left now?"

"We would not get the ZPM, and we would not be allowed to continue any trade agreements with these people or any of their allies."

"McKay, you're taking the bath," John ordered.

The Sandarian people had offered a lucrative trade contract. If that alone wasn't enough--and it really was when you added in the ZPM-- their allies happened to be a few of Atlantis' allies. Weir would be pissed if they came back having completed destroyed half the trade agreements by failing to take a mud bath. He could almost see the thought process run through McKay's head, and the man dropped his shoulders, resigned.

John gestured at the old women. "Lead the way, ladies. We're off to do our best swine impression."

The mud bath was huge, obviously a central part of their…uh…ceremonies. Already, other losers were joking and lounging in the steaming stuff. Large river rocks were laid in a circle around the pool of muck, and it easily had to have a circumference of twenty feet. There must be a lot of losers on this planet, John mused.

The women had placed the baskets with towels beside a crude wooden log bench, and stood waiting. For what? Then John noticed Teyla eyeing their clothes with a raised eyebrow.

"No--" Sheppard started to say.

She was biting her lip, and was that to keep from laughing?

"I'm afraid so, Colonel, but they said you will be allowed to keep your…underwear," she eyed Rodney with outright amusement now. "So mud won't get 'up there', Doctor McKay."

John took a stoic breath. Here was a spot he hadn't imagined being in, but Teyla, and the others, had seen him in some pretty bad situations, so this should be a piece of cake –

"Could you at least turn around?" he asked, while telling himself there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

Surprisingly, Rodney was already shucking his clothes, and at John's raised eyebrow, he rushed his explanation. "The quicker I get this over with, the better."

Was one of the older ladies tapping her foot?

Shit. Sheppard unbuckled his belt. They'd already taken off their vests for the record-fast wrestling match, so all he had left were his t-shirt, pants and boots. He hadn't even worn socks today.

Going for McKay's theory of faster is better, he undressed quicker than he'd done since officer training school and dropped into the mud pit.

There really weren't words to describe what it felt like, but the look on Rodney's face did what words couldn't. A mixture of horror, disgust and a small amount of "oh, that's not too bad."

The heat of the mud made a person's mind shift unpleasantly to pictures of steaming cow dung on cold mornings, and the way the thickness slid over his skin sent a clear message to his brain that this wasn't water, but on the other hand, the heat, once it had a few moments to sink into the skin, did have kind of a soothing aspect, especially after said skin's being used as a trampoline for Big Dumb Muscle Guys.

Rodney was nodding slowly. "See, this isn't so bad. In fact, I bet Carson would even say it's just what the doctor ordered."

John didn't think the smug look was appropriate, but he was too busy trying to keep his head above the mud. The pit had obviously been created with the seven-foot-tall monsters in mind, not lesser-sized humans who gated to that side of the universe and made stupid mistakes, time and time again. It was amazing the difference a foot made when you were sitting in mud up to your chin.

Teyla and Ronon seemed mollified, now that they were taken care of, and Ronon waved jauntily as Teyla led the way back to the feast.

When Beckett had tested the Sandarian food, however, he hadn't extended the test to their mud, and it hadn't been more then ten minutes when John felt a prickle on his leg.

Not paying much attention, he reached his hand into the viscous mud and raked it across the source of the irritation.

Then John realized he had another itch farther up from that spot, and he moved his hand that direction, only to freeze when he noticed McKay scratching a spot on his knee – at least he thought that was Rodney's knee. God, he hoped that was his knee.

"Do you itch?" he asked.

Rodney had apparently noticed the same thing, because he'd stopped scratching and nodded sadly. "You don't think -"

"I do," John said flatly.

Because the way everything else had gone tonight, why the hell wouldn't they have some kind of allergic reaction to an alien mud bath?

Rodney threw his hands up, splattering mud over both his face and John's. McKay flushed further. "This is unbelievable! I'm a physicist. Do you even realize how many degrees I have? And yet, here I am, wallowing in non-hypoallergenic mud on an alien planet, while our two friends get to dance and eat and enjoy not itching!"

"McKay -"

Rodney's voice slipped into mimic mode, " 'I assure you, Doctor McKay, the Sandarian people are harmless' – oh, God," he groaned as he had to scratch fervently at a spot on his nose, "do you have any Benadryl?"

John released a long-suffering sigh. It wasn't bad enough that he was beginning to feel like his body was one big hive, he was stuck with Rodney who was enduring the same discomfort – change that, because that was the problem. McKay didn't endure, he bitched, loudly, letting everyone know how miserable he was.

Making a command decision, John reached for a towel and stood. The lady frowned, but didn't move to call any goons to keep him in the pit. The mud was slippery, and he managed to crawl out, but he had a few new scrapes to add injury to the insult.

Scraping away mud with a finger, he said, "Let's go. We've got stuff in the jumper's med kit to help with the reaction. It'll keep us sane 'til Ronon and Teyla are done."

You didn't have to tell Rodney twice, John had to give him that. McKay scrambled out, taking Sheppard's helping hand, and wrapped himself in a towel before looking for his clothes.

Speaking of clothes, where were theirs? "What'd they do with our stuff?"

"I wasn't watching, I thought you were," McKay said, annoyed with the worsening situation, and searching the area around the mud pit for any sign of their pants.

"I was too busy trying to make sure they saw as little of me as possible, Rodney," John defended himself.

McKay's jaw twitched, but he finally gave up looking and turned to John. "Forget the clothes. Let's go. Teyla can bring the gear or not, I really don't care." He scratched the hand holding the towel in place.

Normally, the fact that his P90 was floating loose in a native village would bug him into staying and searching, but the itch was fast ratcheting past uncomfortable to unbearable, and Ronon and Teyla were still there.

"Right, let's go."

Neither one talked about the fact they had a five-mile hike back to the ship, wearing nothing but their underwear, a towel, and a lot of mud. It was some sort of unspoken agreement that this wouldn't be talked about. Not now, not ever.

They'd gone about two miles when Rodney perked up.

"What?" asked Sheppard, noticing the rise in the slumped shoulders.

"Remember that lake we passed on our way into the village?"

John squinted, thinking back. The path had been well worn for most of it, and he hadn't paid much attention to the surroundings aside from front, back, and the immediate area on their right and left. It wasn't like there was anywhere for an ambush because the land was like something out of a grassland climate.

He did remember seeing the glint of water refracting sunlight. "Vaguely," he replied.

"We can stop long enough to wash some of this off, and maybe it'll help with the itching," suggested Rodney, pleased with his idea.

Curiosity piqued, John asked, "Do you remember where it was? It's kind of dark, and we don't seem to have any flashlights." He looked down at his lack of attire before meaningfully scanning McKay's similar state.

The sun had started to set about the time they'd been wrestled to the ground like a pair of sheep for the shearing. And while he could still make out dark shapes, it would be almost impossible for him to pick out where the water was now.

"Actually, I do, because there was a cut in the grass that looked suspiciously like a wagon had crashed, and the thought of wagons crashing and the natives investigating criminal responsibility for driving under the influence of ale, or mead, or whatever the hell they drink to get drunk, amused me."

John stopped and regarded McKay, bewildered. "Your mind actually works like that?"

"Of course, doesn't yours?"

"No," John deadpanned.

McKay stared awkwardly at Sheppard for a beat, before shaking his head and saying, "Look, there it is."

And it was. The grass was bent and twisted, and you could definitely see wheel indentations in the path swerving off into the grass before it looked like the wagon had rolled and horses had panicked.

Joining Rodney's twisted mind for just a moment, John thought ironically of a "hit-and-run." He could imagine the chief comforting a woman: "I'm sorry, widow woman, the other wagon is still out there, we'll find it, and when we do, we'll sentence the culprit to five mud baths!"

A road block, examining all incoming and outgoing wagons for slivers of other wagons embedded in the front, or missing chunks… John couldn't stop the grin.

"What are you smiling about?" asked Rodney, suspicious.

"Nothing." He wouldn't admit he'd drifted into McKay's bizarre thoughts. But, back to the situation at hand, he did remember seeing this earlier. He'd dismissed it as normal traffic and hadn't given it another thought. Leave it to McKay to build a scenario where two wagons collided.

"It's to the left, right?" he asked, already moving off the path in that direction.

"Right," said McKay, heading the other way.

John stopped. Rodney stopped. They looked at each other and McKay enunciated again, slowly, "Your military right," and pointed ahead of him.

"They don't pay me enough," John muttered, but he turned back and followed McKay.

"You asked if it was left by saying right, and I said right meaning the direction, whereas you used it as an affirmative. I can't help it if you failed to learn how to use basic English. It was a completely inappropriate time to use the word as an affirmative."

"There's a right time to use the right, and a wrong time, but if I turn left and it's wrong, I should've used right."

"I'm having flashbacks to Abbott and Costello." Baffled, Rodney tried to not stare at Sheppard. "God, I hope there wasn't anything mind altering in that mud."

Sheppard giggled. "Mind-altering mud."

He didn't really think his reaction was anything more than the fact that the whole evening was such a debacle as to border on ludicrous. Because he really was still pissed about the whole situation, he just found that whole conversation…oddly humorous.

A loud braying sound, like some kind of mutant donkey, caused both of them to stop talking and moving.

John's military instincts kicked in, erasing the amusement, and he yanked Rodney down to the ground, hiding them in the rushes that had become more prominent as they neared the lake.

"What's that?" Nervous, Rodney was trying to see above the vegetation.

John turned his head slowly to look at McKay, incredulous. "Do you honestly think I know?"

Snarling, McKay rounded on Sheppard. "You know what? I get that this entire situation sucks, and you blame me, but it was a simple question in relation to a distressing sound making me flash back to wild safari trips in Africa, and I'd really rather not top this night off by being eaten by their native version of a lion or some other equally mean animal with big claws and teeth, so could you stop trying to guilt me anymore than you already have and focus on the thing making that noise!"

"I'm not guilting you. If you have guilt, maybe you ought to consider why!" retorted Sheppard, equally pissed.

Rodney opened his mouth to spout back, but he snapped it shut. He tried again, only to have the same result. Finally, he gritted, "Yes, I have guilt. I'm well aware this is my fault. Now, can you please figure out what is making that noise? Reassure me it's not twelve feet high, with paws bigger than my head."

John's mouth twitched with a repressed smile. But he poked his head above the grass and scanned the area around the lake. Twilight conditions did make it hard to see, but the black, vague shapes he saw weren't anything with paws bigger than McKay's head; in fact, they kind of looked like a horse with a panda's fur and ears.

"They look kinda cute," he admitted, pulling Rodney up by the arm to look.

His eyes squinted at the shapes before Rodney glanced over at John. "No claws? Because I really don't do claws."

Shaking his head for more than one reason, John assured him, "No claws, not with feet like that. Now hooves, that I think they've got, but you just have to make sure you don't get in the way of their feet."

"This end looks clear," observed Rodney. "Think we should risk it?"

John hadn't forgotten how badly his body was itching. The lapping of the water against the lakeshore was awfully inviting. He narrowed his eyes at the animals. They were quite a ways away, and looked like they were simply drinking and bathing at the local watering hole.

"Yeah, I do," John answered honestly. "Because I don't know if I can stand another hour coated in this crap."

"Oh, God," Rodney groaned. "You don't actually think it's crap?"

John swallowed, and looked again at those animals. "No," he said. "It was hot, right, like a native hot spring, or something - " Of course, it could've been a hot spring, and all they'd had to do was add the…crap…and stir.

Damn.

"Just go." He shoved Rodney forward. Quietly.

They crept forward, always keeping an eye on the animals, but except for one or two lifting their heads, the beasts didn't pay them much attention. That was just hunky-dory, as far as John was concerned.

Slipping happily into the lake, the cold water sent a shock through their bodies. But it also sent blessed relief from the itching over every bit of skin the water touched. Heavenly relief.

Both men sighed, and sank down to their necks by sitting on the bottom of the lake. They'd only waded in about two feet before it was deep enough to allow them to rinse.

John was just beginning to think things were looking up, when their splashing, or scent, or something, must have reached the herd of Pandorses, the name he'd dubbed them, as it was so much simpler than referring to them as 'those native animals without really long claws. Anyway, they'd done something because suddenly heads were popping up, and the grating sound of braying and honking kicked up.

"Do you think that's for us?" McKay asked, eyeing them uneasily.

"I think it's definitely for us," shouted John, standing so fast, water went sluicing off his body everywhere. "Run!"

They ran. For long enough that the wind dried off their partially washed bodies, and for both to be bent over, cradling the painful stitch in their sides, and each breath to come rasping painfully out of their lungs.

"I…think…they're…gone," panted McKay.

John took a steadying breath. "Yeah." He still looked over his shoulder to make sure.

There was no way they could've outrun the animals on a good day, but it appeared the Pandorses couldn't see worth shit, and as long as they'd stayed low and kept moving at a steady pace, they were able to escape. But he had a sneaking suspicion that the things could smell really well, and since they were still coated in …mud…albeit a thinner layer, he thought maybe they shouldn't rest too long.

"Let's get back to the jumper," he said, straightening. "It can't be much further."

And he was cold. The water had definitely made him cold. Rodney shivering in his underwear next to him made it clear it wasn't just him. They had both lost their towels in the mad dash to get away from the Pandorses. Long underwear for the casual stargate traveler hadn't been introduced, and John's boxers were just a little too breezy.

Sulking, they made their way to the ship, which in fact, wasn't that far away at all. Rodney did something to the panel, and the rear hatch descended, slowly, but with the offer of warmth and relief, and Sheppard tried not to act like it mattered as much as it did. They climbed up the ramp, and John headed for where the blankets were stowed while Rodney shut the hatch, and reached for his gear to get the medication for the godawful itching that had returned with a vengeance.

John spread the blanket out so they could sit, and Rodney tossed him a packet of gelcaps. They took the pills, and hunched dejectedly on the floor, each taking an edge and wrapping themselves in it.

"Remind me to tell Elizabeth that we're never doing a native feast again, period," swore Rodney.

Their teeth were only chattering a little now, and they fought against scratching everywhere, but they'd at least made it safely back to the ship.

Present time 

That was their current situation: hunched in a blanket, feeling completely rotten, a horde of Pandorses surrounding the jumper, having sniffed out their quarry finally.

"I thought you said they'd get bored and go back to bathing, and drinking…and other things." McKay's hand waved underneath his blanket.

"I thought they would, Rodney," John drawled. He really had. And to think, things had started out so promisingly that morning…

"I vote we take the jumper and gate home. We can send a team back for Ronon and Teyla." To make his point stronger, he stood and dropped the blanket enough to show his upper body. "Look at us, we're covered in this rash, and they're off having a party – and who knows if these things will ever go away."

Sheppard actually considered it. They could gate home, and a relief team could be back before Ronon and Teyla would even miss –

Loud bangs echoed outside the ship, and both men's eyes widened. "What the hell is it now," John bitched, because he'd really had enough.

There was more banging, loud angry honks and snorts and noises from the Pandorses, and then it was quiet. Rodney shared a sideways look at John before saying, "If it scared the animals off, I really don't want to know what's out there."

"Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay?"

Teyla!

John grinned in relief. Problem solved. The rest of his team was back and they'd apparently chased off the native wildlife. He and Rodney could go home and die in peace.

He reached over and hit the hatch release, watching as Teyla and Ronon's head came into view first, before revealing the rest of them, and was that –

"Don't say it," Ronon warned, striding angrily into the jumper, dropping clumps of crap…err…mud, all over.

Teyla was biting her lip to keep from smiling. She had a native sack brimming with their gear, the ZPM sticking out from the top of the bag, and he could see his P90 slung over Ronon's back.

Rodney slunk to the seat next to where Ronon sat and whispered conspiratorially, "She really had a nice ass, didn't she?"

Teyla shot both of them a dirty look, and strode to John, shoving the bag into his chest and letting go so fast that John had to let the blanket fall to grab the bag otherwise it would've fallen on his feet.

Which left him standing in his boxers, holding their clothes, and every eye turned his way, except Teyla's.

"I'm gonna kill Elizabeth," he groaned.

OoO 

"Let me get this straight," Beckett asked, with just a little too much twinkle in his eyes. "Rodney insulted the Chief by…staring…at his daughter's arse, and to repair the honor, you both had to wrestle in a competition?" Carson had been trying to get the complete story since they'd gated home and dejectedly made their way to the infirmary. The allergy medicine hadn't done nearly enough for the itching, and putting on clothes had been a mistake, because the fabric rubbed every hive constantly.

Ronon had refused to talk about it, Teyla had stopped trying to explain when she kept losing the battle against smiling and snickering. McKay had given up on getting Ronon to agree the girl's ass had been worth it.

John wasn't going to let Rodney know he secretly agreed, because of course he had copped a look, but no one had caught him. Hey, all those years of survival training in flight school had been for something.

When Beckett had first seen them, he'd tutted about off-world conditions, and ushered them into scrubs and started running tests to find out what kind of component was causing the irritation, while nurses worked on slathering hydrocortisone cream over their skin.

Teyla had finally given in, gathered a semblance of self control, and began to explain what had happened, because John, Rodney, and Ronon were all unwilling to admit the complete story. Carson's sympathy had drifted into outright glee as she finished telling the tale.

After he managed to stop laughing, he wiped his eyes and apologized. "I'm sorry, Colonel, it's just…I haven't had a good laugh in months."

"Yeah, well, never say we fail to serve," he grouched, trying not to get caught scratching a really annoying spot on his thigh.

"Quit scratching," Rodney grouched.

Misery loved company and McKay didn't like that John was better at being covert with the scratching, and was getting away with it more than he was.

Recovered enough to talk, Beckett waved at Teyla. "Lass, you can go. Your post-mission check came back clear." He sniffed again and his eyes watered, he'd been laughing so hard. "Tell Elizabeth I'll be up shortly to brief her on the others'…condition."

Sheppard gritted his teeth. "Yes, tell Elizabeth that I'd like to brief her, also." And he had some very clear mental pictures of sending her to visit with the chief, and introducing her to the wonderfully rejuvenating mud pit, or crap pit, or whatever it was.

After all, wasn't it his duty as military head to ensure she experienced the full benefits of what the Pegasus galaxy had to offer?

Rodney caught the contemplative look and said, "No, don't even think about it. She'd make our life hell, and you know it."

Sheppard shifted down further in the bed, the movement scratching the hot spot in the middle of his back, and grinned rakishly. "Rodney, I don't know what you're talking about."

The End 


End file.
